Today of All Days
by Webmistress
Summary: Archer realises something. (AT'PT)


Today of All Days

Pairing: A/T/T'P - angst/futurefic

Rating: G

Summary: Archer realises something.

Spoilers: tiny ones for Harbinger; Azati Prime; Damage; Zero Hour

Disclaimer: All characters owned by Paramount. This is a non profit-making venture.

It was strange, but when he thought back to those years now, what he remembered most clearly was not his terror at the possibility of failure, but her face.

At the time, things had been happening so fast. So, so fast - after entering the Expanse the only thing he had ever had time to think about was accomplishing his mission. His thoughts, waking or otherwise, had been filled with the terror of not succeeding, of not saving Earth from utter annihilation. If Enterprise didn't find the weapon, if he could not find some way of stopping its launch, of ceasing the bloodshed before it began...

So much time spent considering death that he had not spared much thought for the living.

But now, when he thought back, he thought of her. Somewhere along the line, T'Pol's angular features had worked their way into his mind. They had become a habit that he had not formed through effort. Her short, neat hair, her perfect fingernails, the frequently determined set of her jaw. At the time he had appreciated that she was a flawless first officer but beyond that his thoughts about her (other than occasional and instantly forgotten wanderings) had been anodyne. His lack of female companionship during those days had been surprisingly easy to bear. Archer was used to long periods of sexual isolation, few military men could avoid that. He knew when to stop thoughts straying further than they should. But on Enterprise, in that year, he had not had any moments of difficulty. So focused was he on the mission that all else paled into insignificance, including the fact that T'Pol was by far the most attractive officer he had served with.

That year had been about death. About avoiding it, about causing it, about fleeing from it, about regretting it. Archer had put his life on hold, at least on a conscious level. Apparently his sub-conscious had developed other ideas.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Jonathan Archer paused for a moment before standing up. Shutting his eyes and rubbing his hands over his eyes, her face once more occurred to him, rising behind his eyelids. Fittingly, her image came with no emotion, other than those he attributed to every member of that crew. She was just there. Just like she had always been there, though before now he had never quite realised it.

But then, the saying does go that you never know what you have until it's gone.

Standing, stretching his back out of the posture of sleep, Archer crossed the floor of his quarters to get himself a cup of coffee_. Snap out of it_, Captain, he told himself, _whatever this is, just forget it. Now is not the time to start second guessing the past._

But as he bent to give Porthos his first pat of the day, her face still lingered. As he showered and dressed it occurred to him that he'd never seen her smile, and wondered if Vulcans ever did. He'd seen her on the verge of tears, in those terrible days when she had been affected by the Treillium-D and could not muster the strength to keep those feelings at bay. He remembered now, in a flash, the surge that had risen in his heart when he had stopped her rising from her sick bed. When she had told him to find the nearest habitable planet and leave her there.

_You felt something then, can't you remember? When she looked so frail, so unlike herself. When you thought she might be damaged beyond Phlox's help. _

Had there been something there, back then? Archer tried to search those memories for some hint of an affection that would explain his sudden awareness of her. Surely if it had been there all those months - years now, even - ago, then he would remember it?

Archer searched his thoughts. Even after that night of turmoil spent in Phlox's sickbay, so many moons ago, he remembered tiny flashes of warmth. He remembered the words she had said to him, as he'd embarked on his suicide mission that was not to be. _I don't want you to die_, she'd said, and her face in that moment had held so much expression that he remembered being momentarily glued to the spot. But she'd qualified it quickly, and of course between those words being spoken and his return, enough water had passed under the bridge on which they stood to sink a liner. Or a Starship.

_Why didn't you talk to her when you got back? Couldn't you find the time? Didn't you want to?_

He remembered a million reasons why he hadn't, why it hadn't even occurred to him to question her sudden statement. He'd heard the whispers about her and Trip - hell, at the time he'd thought his old friend was damn lucky, and wished him well. Why would he even think about T'Pol as anything other than his first officer when she was with his best friend? Those early flickers had been dealt with long ago, had settled somewhere so deep within him that he couldn't have kindled them even if he'd so desired. T'Pol was a fellow officer, and a fine one, and what else had he needed in those dark days but that?

And anyway, he'd realised not long afterwards that she wasn't quite herself. She'd smashed a PADD against his desk, in a fit of anger he had never seen from her before. Now, thinking about that day, Archer realised with slight guilt that he'd never done much to find out why she had been acting so strangely. In sickbay he'd even covered her hand with his own to stop it shaking, but she'd insisted she was fine and pulled back.

_You can feel it now, the sense of loss when she moved away so quickly. You hadn't seen her for so long, and that mattered, though you didn't know it. Couldn't you feel something then? Did you mistake that spark in your heart for something else?_

Staring into his mirror, Archer suddenly realised that he was dwelling on things that were no longer of consequence. This was all done with, all gone. Today was the start of something new, not a time to think about missed opportunities.

Pulling on his dress uniform, straightening his lapel with a final pat from a hand that did not shake, Archer glanced down at Porthos, watching him curiously.

"What's the matter? Think I've put on too much weight?"

Porthos, deigning not to answer, tipped his canine head to one judicious side, cocking an ear at his unsettled owner. Crouching, tickling the dog under his ears, Archer frowned and sighed again.

"What's going on, boy? What's up with this head of mine, thinking about T'Pol?"

Porthos, still disinterested in anything other than being loved, threw out a quick bark.

"Yes, I know, I'm late." Archer straightened, looking at himself in the mirror. He'd been there more than a minute when the com chirped into life.

"T'Pol to Archer."

Moving slowly, Archer paused before flicking the control to answer her.

"I'm here, T'Pol."

"Captain, have you been delayed?"

Archer turned back into his room, looking at himself once again in the mirror. Was that a flash of grey at his temple? Another line under his eye and across his forehead? "I'll be right there, Sub Commander."

There was a pause. "If you are delayed much longer, I will be late."

Despite everything, he couldn't help but smile. "You won't be late. And anyway, you're supposed to be late."

Another pause. "This is not an Earth tradition I wish to acquaint myself with, Captain."

The smile faded as he glanced down at his feet, and then rested his weight on one leg to shine the toe of one shoe against his neatly pressed calf.

"It's Jonathan, T'Pol. Today of all days."

"Very well, Jonathan. I await your convenience."

He smiled again, and couldn't help being flippant. "I'll be along right and shortly, ma'am."

Archer cut the connection and looked down at Porthos again. The dog was looking at him expectantly, though heaven only knew why. He was probably hoping for cheese.

With a sigh, Archer donned his dress uniform jacket, doing up the crisp, stiff buttons and thinking of a myriad things that he should have said and done. It seemed that while he had spent a year thinking about death, life had gone on for the living.

One last glimpse in his mirror, and he left his quarters, heading the short distance to T'Pol's own rooms. It was funny that they should have ended up back here, on Enterprise. But after the long an arduous struggle that had taken him across time and back, it hardly seemed right to be anywhere else. And so here they all were, just as always, ready to embark on another mission to god only knew where. With a few small changes, of course.

One last breath, and he thumbed the chime to her quarters. The door slid open so swiftly that she'd probably been waiting with her ear against the door. Or maybe, since she was Vulcan, that wasn't necessary...

"Jonathan."

He smiled again, realising oh so belatedly that the face in front of him was already somewhere so deep within he hardly needed to see it in the flesh.

"Hey," he said softly, glancing her over. "You look great."

She looked down at her dress. It was typically her, not white, no frills and definitely no meringue. Pale grey, draped from straight lines into soft ones. "This will suffice?"

"It will suffice perfectly," Archer smiled, stepping back a pace. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said, and then hesitated, "Jonathan -"

Clamping it all back down where it belonged, Archer reached out and took her hand, folding it over his arm as he drew her out of the doorway. "You'll be fine. I promise."

And as they walked towards the mess hall to where the crew and Trip were waiting, feeling her hand on his arm, he wondered why he'd never seen her face before.

[END]


End file.
